By and By
by r4ven3
Summary: Who does Harry turn to for advice on how to deal with Ruth's statement about we couldn't be more together...? Even Harry is surprised by who it is he turns to for help. A series of hidden scenes after the end of 9.01, rated M for chapter 2. An H & R story in 3 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_The rain to the wind said,_

_You push, and I'll pelt._

_They so smote the garden bed,_

_That the flowers actually knelt,_

_And lay lodged – though not dead._

_I know how the flowers felt._

Robert Frost

* * *

_Endure and persist; this pain will turn to good by and by._

Ovid

* * *

Harry was tired and fed up. It had happened again, and he had no idea how to make it right. Affairs of the heart were not his forte, after all. So far in his fifty-six years of life, he had almost single-handedly destroyed every relationship he'd had with any woman he'd valued. He stood at the balustrade on the roof of Thames House until his nose almost froze, and his heart had numbed, but most importantly, he stayed on the roof alone until he'd mentally formed a strategy. He was no longer prepared for what was between them to continue to lie unacknowledged. It was too important to him, and potentially too important to them both.

He took his phone from his coat pocket, and dialled a number. When the recipient answered, he made brief small talk, and then asked that person for another number.

"I'm not sure I should," said the person at the other end of the phone.

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"I can't even imagine. Murder?"

"You have no faith in me at all, do you?" he said.

"Not a lot, but here's her number. Don't tell her I gave it to you."

Then he dialled the number he was given, made more small talk, and asked this person to not hang up on him. He then arranged to meet her early the following evening.

"Just coffee and a talk," he said, feeling ridiculous …... and desperate.

"As long as that's all," she said. "No histrionics. No dredging up the past."

"I need your help."

"Christ," she said, laughing huskily, "you must be in a bad way."

* * *

The next evening he left work early and instructed his driver to drop him off outside the café just a few blocks from where she lived. He was five minutes early, but she was already there, seated at a table by the wall, facing the doorway, facing him. The years had not dulled her beauty; she was still a striking woman. It's just that the sight of her no longer made his heart race, as it had all those years ago. Too much had happened between them. Too many words had been said which could never be unsaid. He regretted most of what he had said, but he was almost certain she'd meant every one of her words – flung at him laced with her hurt and her rage as he'd left for the last time, struggling with his two suitcases.

As he approached her, he noticed the way she tipped her head to the side, as if assessing him. Even as a twenty-year old she'd done that.

"Hello, Jane," Harry said, as he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. "Have you ordered anything?"

"Yes, and I've taken the liberty of ordering for you also. Just a latte and a Danish."

Harry rolled his eyes, and looked down at his stomach.

"You need to live a little, Harry," she said, smiling.

"I hope you don't mind me picking your brains. I have a dilemma, and I needed to speak with someone who knows me well …... someone who knows my weaknesses and shortcomings."

"I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of those," she said, pursing her lips. "Once known, never forgotten. I often wonder how it is you're still alive, Harry. I thought that if the terrorists didn't get you, then surely some woman with a grudge would have stabbed you while you slept."

Harry smiled, his attempt at staying calm in the face of her scorn. As he saw it, she had every right to despise him. He'd been a poor companion, an absent father to their children, and a terrible husband to Jane.

"I trust you're well," he began.

"I know that you see Catherine, and that she mentions me occasionally, so you are as up-to-date with my life as you need to be."

"There's a woman I work with ….. have for seven years now." He noticed a smirk on Jane's lips, but he soldiered on, determined to not be distracted by her responses, coloured as they were by their shared past. "I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down."

"Is that all?"

"No ….. that's just the beginning, but before I go on, I need to ask you something about me. Do you …... would you say I'm a good listener?"

Harry hadn't expected his ex-wife to throw her head back and laugh aloud, exposing her – remarkably, for her age – smooth neck. She continued sniggering for a minute or so, while Harry patiently waited for her to stop. "Harry," she said at last, "you must remember me screaming at you. I did that out of frustration because you seemed to hear nothing at all I ever said."

He nodded, and sat back while a waitress placed their order in front of them. He tried to empty his mind, to erase his memories of the past. He was finding it difficult to remain composed. His memories of fighting with Jane – about what, he never fully understood – had unlocked the door on the shame he'd buried deeply, too deeply to acknowledge to himself. Jane was right – this was not the time for dredging up the past. He carefully sipped his latte. If he was being honest, he'd rather they'd met at a pub, and that his lips were savouring a single malt – neat, definitely.

"How did you ask her to marry you?"

"It was immediately after the funeral of a colleague, and -"

"You asked the woman you – supposedly – love to marry you after a funeral?"

"Yes. She said I had bad timing, and she turned me down."

"Can't you see, Harry? That _was_ badly timed. No matter how old we get, all women love to be wooed with flowers and dinners."

"We work for MI-5. It's hardly a flowers and dinner kind of place."

"Don't I know it."

"This isn't about us, Jane. I asked you here because we have history, but I don't wish to be rehashing that history. Nothing can be gained by that. I need to ask you something." Harry took a sip of his latte, and broke his Danish in two with his fingers, but then laid both pieces back on the plate. "I've loved Ruth for four years, and we've never …..."

"Never what, Harry? Never argued? Never agreed about anything? Never slept together?" Jane smiled widely at her last question, but her eyes widened when she saw the shock on Harry's face. "You've never _slept_ together? _ You?_ Harry Pearce, the man with a teflon zip in his pants? However have you managed _that_?" Rather than shout across the table at him, her voice had become a hoarse whisper.

He looked up at her and nodded. "I'm no longer that man," he said quietly.

"What is it about this …... Ruth …... that has bowled you over? Because you have been, haven't you?"

He nodded again, and Jane saw a naked longing in Harry's eyes, but this time it wasn't for her, but for this woman – this Ruth.

"You're properly in love this time, aren't you?"

"Yes." The word was barely more than a whisper.

"Catherine said you'd changed. She said that a few years ago you lost someone. Some woman you loved had left the country. What happened to her?"

"She came back."

Jane busied herself with her Danish pastry, breaking it into small pieces. She ate two mouthfuls, and swallowed some of her short black coffee before she again looked at Harry.

"So, Harry. What is it Ruth has said that you don't understand? Because this is why you're here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"You must understand by now that when we say no, we often mean yes."

"That's some of what I don't understand. We – she and I – were talking last night, and she tried explaining to me why it was she'd said no to my proposal. She said that had she said yes it would have been a lie. I just don't understand that."

"Why not?"

"Because I also know that she loves me."

"Has she told you she loves you?"

"Not exactly, but neither have I said it to her. We don't communicate in that way. We _do_ far better than we say. We work together in very close proximity. She's my senior intelligence analyst, and she's brilliant. Last night she said to me – and these were her words – that we couldn't be more together than we were right then. I don't understand why it is our working relationship is enough for her. It's not enough for me."

Jane again sipped her coffee, and took ate another bite of her Danish. "Mmm, I love blueberry Danish. You haven't eaten yours, Harry."

"It's too sweet for me. You can have mine as well, if you like."

Jane took her time, chewing and swallowing, and then wiping her mouth with her napkin. She then sat back in her chair, and looked across the table at her ex-husband. He was showing his age, but that probably had more to do with the hours he kept, the decent meals he'd denied himself, and the copious amounts of coffee and whiskey he took in. There was a sadness about him that she hadn't seen when she'd known him. He'd always been arrogant. He'd had a way of always being right. They'd settled their arguments by having sex, and he'd been rather good at that. It's just that they'd endured too many arguments which had never been adequately resolved, and so resentment had germinated, and then grown, and thrived. For her, the resentment she'd borne towards Harry had withered, and was now little more than occasional mild irritation. Had it not, she'd not have been able to sit across the table from him.

"Has …... has Ruth had a lot of men in her life? Has she had a lot of boyfriends? Has she been married?"

"No to all those questions. She's younger than me -"

"I gathered that. Catherine intimated that the woman who had had to leave the country was quite a lot younger than you."

"There's an almost seventeen year age difference."

"Good God, Harry. She's not a lot older than your own daughter."

"She's ten years older than Catherine. She's wise and clever, and compassionate and kind. I've never known anyone like her."

"And you scare her."

"_What?_"

"You scare her, Harry, or more accurately, the prospect of intimacy with you scares her."

Harry sat watching, waiting for the next bombshell. He'd been after advice, not insults.

"What you've told me is that you're quite a lot older than she is, and that you're her boss. What I already know about you is that on your good days you're powerful and charismatic. No self-respecting woman wants a man to be dominating her in her private life. She's happy with your working relationship because she has a certain level of autonomy …... and power. You said yourself she's your senior analyst, and she's good at what she does, so she's the best in her field in your workplace, but you're still the orchestra leader. She doesn't want that dynamic to spill over into your private life. No woman would."

"So what you're saying is that she's protecting herself from me."

"Somewhat, but this needn't be the end of the road for you. Have you tried seduction? I seem to remember you used to be rather good at it."

"I can't even get her to come out with me. Besides, we never seem to have the time."

"I don't know your Ruth, so I can only make a supposition, but I suspect she'd like to be with you in a non-work-related environment. Let her see how you are away from work, and don't for God's sake talk about work when you're out together. When was the last time you tried asking her out?"

Harry sighed heavily, realising that Jane had hit on something fundamental that he'd missed. How could he have been so obtuse?

"It was four years ago."

"Christ, Harry! I'm not surprised she won't marry you. Get her away from the Grid. Among other things, it's a passion killer. Take her for a drink. Make subtle moves. Don't scare her. And don't take her words literally. Most of us don't mean 80% of what we say whenever a man is trying to pin us down. Men always want straight answers, but you need to know that woman rarely give them. It's how we maintain our allure."

"Thank you. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Stop thinking, Harry, and do. Do something, but don't waste your time talking to me. You were an awful husband to me, but you did have potential. Now it's time you tried being a good husband to someone. I'm sure you care enough about your Ruth to be able to manage that. Just one last piece of advice from me. I suggest that you don't take your pants off too soon. Make her beg you to take her to bed. Women rather like that. It tells them that men want them for more than their bodies."

Jane began gathering her things – her phone, her reading glasses, her leather gloves, her bag – and she turned to Harry one last time before she stood up.

"Let me know how you go, Harry. I _am_ interested, and your daughter has told me on more than one occasion that she'd like to see you happy." She stood up, walked to Harry's side, and dropped a quick kiss on his temple. "You'll settle the bill, won't you? Bye."

And she was gone, and Harry was still not sure what she had told him. Most of their conversation had made little sense to him. Women were almost a different species altogether, but he was determined this time to not allow Ruth to elude him. All in all, he was glad he'd rung Catherine to ask her for her mother's phone number.

* * *

The next day was Saturday, and by the time Harry was ready to call it a day, Ruth was the only senior member of staff left on the Grid. Why was this so often the case? If she didn't want to be with him, then why was she still there?

"You've done enough for one day, Ruth," he said, when she brought her risk assessments into his office, and sat on the chair he indicated with his hand. "Will you have a drink with me?"

"What – now?"

"I wasn't thinking about next week. And I don't mean here, either."

Ruth sat back and stared over his shoulder for several seconds. To Harry, each second represented an ice age. He held his breath until her eyes again focused on him.

"I'd like that. As we speak, Beth is moving into my flat, and I'm reluctant to go home any time soon."

"I'm sorry about that, Ruth. Lucas told me after he'd informed you. I was against it from the start. Hopefully it will be just a temporary measure."

"Hopefully."

By the time Harry drove out of the Thames House underground car park with Ruth in the passenger seat beside him, his face was set in a smile, and he contemplated driving south until they reached the coast. Then he'd suggest a hotel or a B&B, and the rest would be down to chance and good fortune. He was thinking about how he didn't want to take Ruth to a pub or a wine bar, but he'd rather she came back to his house, when she spoke.

"Harry," she said, as they were stopped at the lights, waiting for them to turn green, "I ….. I don't especially wish to be seen out with you. Don't take that the wrong way …... I'm not ashamed of being seen with you – quite the opposite – but I don't wish this to be seen as a date. Do you think that we could …... have our drink at your place? If that's alright with you."

_If it's alright with me?_

"That …... is what I've been thinking, Ruth, if you're comfortable with that."

"Oh, I'm comfortable alright. After all, we're just a couple of close friends celebrating the end of a another stressful week."

He nodded, as he guided the car through the early Saturday evening traffic. _Close friends? Lie or truth?_

"And," Ruth continued, "you _did_ save thousands of lives this week."

"So you've said." He took a deep breath before he continued speaking. "So, Ruth, not all my choices have been poor ones."

"Hardly any. Sometimes I say things, and they come out all wrong. You must have noticed that by now."

He had. _Jane was right, after all. Clever woman._

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, they were inside Harry's house, sitting at his kitchen table, with a takeaway Indian meal between them on the table. Harry had just removed the cap from a bottle of Italian light red, and he was pouring them each a glass.

"This is nice," Ruth said.

"It is."

Harry watched her as she tucked into her Chicken Tikka with naan bread. To his eyes, she looked wonderful – relaxed, her cheeks flushed with the wine she'd drunk, her face and hands animated as she told him some story about her cat hiding under her bed when Beth had arrived at the flat with the first of her belongings.

Harry dropped his eyes as soon as she looked at him. He hadn't wanted her to notice how closely he was watching her – checking her out. He smiled as he scooped another mouthful of Lamb Masala into his mouth, and then topped up their wine glasses. He could barely look at her, for fear she'd read the joy in his eyes.

He and Ruth Evershed were alone in his house on this not-a-date, and she was still here, enjoying his company. She had not run, she had not made her excuses and left early. He hadn't had to tie her up or drug her. So far, it was the perfect night.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he'd opened the second bottle of Italian red (he'd bought a case when they were on special at his local off license), they were sitting companionably in his sitting room, Harry in his favourite armchair, and Ruth on the sofa, leaning against the cushions piled at one end, her legs tucked under her. Some time during dinner, she'd removed her cardigan, and the dress she wore hugged her body so that he was having difficulty keeping his eyes from following her curves, and committing them to memory.

Harry had also caught Ruth looking at him with what could only be called appreciation, as her own eyes wandered over the skin of his throat, exposed when he'd removed his tie and opened a couple of shirt buttons.

They'd both removed their shoes early in the evening. He being in socks, and she in tights added an intimate tone to their being alone together in his house. Their conversation had drifted to their thoughts about William Towers, the new Home Secretary.

"He's still a politician, Ruth, and by definition, not to be trusted."

"I quite like him. He appears to be the kind of person willing to own up to his short-comings."

"Only time will tell," he said quietly, watching her over the rim of his wine glass.

"As it usually does."

Harry noticed that she was holding his gaze, something rare for Ruth when they were way from work, or talking about work. When their conversation became personal, Ruth tended to become flustered, and she'd look away from him. Perhaps Jane had been right again. Perhaps Ruth was confronted by his direct gaze. Reluctantly, he took his gaze from her, and watched the gas fire, its hissing providing a background to their conversation.

"Do you have any music we can listen to, Harry? We need some background music."

"Would you like to choose, Ruth? I'd only put on Mozart, or Mahler, and that's hardly mood music."

"Especially Mahler."

"Yes, especially Mahler."

Ruth broke his gaze, and walked to his stack of CD's beside a mini sound system. She flicked through the stack until he heard her say, `this is the one,' and then he heard Annie Lennox through the speakers either side of him.

"Perhaps if you turn it down a notch," he said gently.

The music softened considerably until it became background music, and Ruth returned to her spot against the cushions on the sofa. He leaned his head against the back of his armchair, and closed his eyes. The music was perfect for seduction, but he didn't wish to move too soon, if at all. _Why was everything with Ruth always so fraught?_ And then Ruth spoke.

"Are you going to sit over there all night, Harry? There's a whole sofa next to me, begging for you to join me."

Harry opened his eyes, and looked at her. She was looking at him in a way he'd rarely seen from her. Her eyes were direct, and they held an air of confrontation – almost an `I dare you!'

"Is that an invitation, Ruth?"

"To sit nearer to me? Yes it is."

Harry stood up, and taking his glass with him, he sat on the sofa next to Ruth, but not touching. She grasped the half-full bottle of wine from the low table by the sofa, and topped up their glasses. It was only their second bottle, so they were both mellow, but nowhere near inebriated. Harry felt brave, but not foolish.

"I love Annie Lennox," Ruth said, stretching one foot so that it touched Harry's thigh.

"Catherine gave it to me when she was about seventeen. She found my taste in music …... `crap' was the word she'd used."

Without thinking about it, Harry put down his glass, and gently touched the top of Ruth's foot with his fingers. He wanted to touch her all over, but her foot would have to do for now.

"Harry, would you rather touch my skin?"

His fingers stopped moving over her foot, and he took his hand away. He suddenly felt like a teenager, caught spying on the girl next door while she'd been undressing – not that he'd ever done that, but he imagined that being caught out would be a shaming experience. His face burned hot under her scrutiny.

Very quickly, as though in fast forward, Ruth stood up, and removed her tights. She had her back to him as she did so, and it had happened before he'd had an awareness of what she was doing. She then again sat down beside him, and pushed her bare foot against his thigh. Harry again put his hand on her foot, and feathered his fingers from her toes, and along the top of her foot, and then back again. He could not stop. He simply _had_ to touch her bare foot with his fingers. Were she to have pulled her foot away, he'd surely have cried real tears, but she seemed to be enjoying his touch. When he lifted his eyes to her, he found she was laying back against the cushions, her eyes closed, a look of bliss on her face. This was what he had dreamed about, what he had thought about as he lay in bed at night, unable to sleep for wanting her.

That look – her expression – made him even braver.

He allowed his fingers to circle her ankle, and from her Achilles tendon, he very slowly allowed his hand to glide up her calf – just a few inches, no more. Ruth had already lifted her knee so that he could easily reach underneath her ankle and her leg, and when he glanced quickly at her to ensure her eyes were still closed – they were – he allowed himself to look under her skirt. She lifted her knee even further, and he almost passed out at the sight of black lace pants. He wanted to move his hand up her leg to where her thighs met. He longed to touch her there.

He felt his breathing heavy with desire – for her, to touch her, to see all of her, to be inside her – and when he again looked at her face, her eyes were focused on the tightness at the front of his trousers, and the outline of his erection as it strained inside his underwear. He could see that her eyes were on his hardness, his sign that he was aroused by her, and ready for her.

"Ruth," he managed to say, before he pushed his hand up her calf to the back of her knee.

From her knee, he opened out his hand so that his fingers glanced against her inner thigh, and his thumb her outer thigh. His palm gently glanced along the back of her thigh. He moved his hand very, very slowly, and then he turned so that his other hand rested on the top of her foot, caressing her skin with his thumb.

"Ruth," he said again, his voice deep with his desire, and he allowed his body to lean closer to her, while his one hand reached the top of her thigh, and the other began a similar journey along the other leg.

When his fingers touched lace, he closed his eyes for a moment, and steadied his breathing. That was when he felt her fingers on his cheek, and her thumb pressed against his lips, so that he gently kissed it. He did not wish to come across to Ruth as being desperate. _But I am desperate. I long for her. I want her._ _Preferably tonight._ He slid his hand further, so that his fingers slipped under the elastic at the edge of her knickers. He wanted to push his fingers inside her, to arouse her, excite her, bring her to climax, as he was so skilled at doing, but he slid past her heat, and grasped her buttock with his fingers.

"Oh, Harry," she said at last. "I want you to touch me there."

There was an urgency in her voice which had him looking up into her eyes.

"Not yet," he said, massaging her buttock gently with his fingers. His other hand had found her other inner thigh, but using all his self-control, he stopped half way up her thigh. He noticed that her skirt was now bunched up around the top of her thighs, clearly exposing the black material of her knickers. He hadn't moved it, so it seemed that Ruth had.

He hadn't expected what she did next. Ruth lay her head back on the cushions, removing her hand from his face, and stretched her leg until her bare foot was on top of his thighs. He felt her toes rub his erection – from its tip all the way down his shaft. He leaned back and groaned, at the same time, removing his hands from her skin. He rested his back against Ruth's knee, as the toes of her other foot caressed him, and he hardened even more under her touch.

Despite his state of arousal, Harry was able to think about what would be best to do next. They were both too aroused to stumble upstairs to his bedroom. Besides, the fire was on, and it cast a warm glow over the room, and apart from the small lamp in the corner, it was their only illumination. By the light from the fire, Ruth's pale skin was tanned and glowing. They could try making love on the sofa, or they could lay on the floor. Neither was ideal, but he had no wish to ruin the atmosphere.

"Ruth," he said, as her toes again grasped him through his trousers. "I have to ask you something."

"Whatever the question, the answer is a resounding yes."

"I still have to ask you." He breathed in deeply before he continued. "Is this what you want? Are you happy if we ….. if we make love?"

"I'll be very unhappy if we don't."

Very gently, he lifted her foot from his groin, and brought it to his lips. He ran his tongue along her instep until she groaned and pulled her foot away.

"Harry, against my better judgement, I want you, and I want you now."

It took only a small movement of his upper body for Harry to lie between Ruth's legs. As he leaned closer to her, she put her hands around his neck, drawing his face closer to her. Harry suddenly realised that they'd been touching one another intimately, but they hadn't kissed. Ruth's hands pulled him closer until their lips met – gently and carefully. Her lips were soft and warm and full, and he loved the feel of them on his own. It was Ruth who first opened her mouth, and touched his lip with her tongue. In response, he opened his mouth, and their tongues met, entangled, glided against the other. Harry heard a low moan, and realised it was coming from his own throat.

While they kissed, their bodies readjusted to him lying on top of her. He felt Ruth wriggling beneath him, and lifted himself slightly to allow her to get comfortable. When he settled back on top of her, he became aware that she had positioned herself so that his erection nestled against her vaginal opening. When the sheer heat emanating from that part of her body seeped through to that part of him, he sighed heavily, and lifted himself away from her. He watched her as she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Ruth," he said, "I don't want this to be too quick. If we lie together … like that …... it'll be over before we've even removed our clothes."

He looked into her eyes, and she stared back at him. Her eyes were soft with arousal, and she smiled at him slowly. "I just want it to happen some time today," she said quietly.

"Me too."

Harry turned his body so that his back was against the sofa, and Ruth was lying beside him. They still lay face to face, but he no longer felt the pressure of her intimate heat on him. He moved his body slightly so that his erection pushed against her thigh. That was safe, and still rather nice.

He wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her again. This time, Ruth put her arms around his neck, and one of her legs found its way around his hip, so that again her soft centre, her heat was hard against his erection. He focused on their lips, their tongues, the fact that only just over two days ago he had believed this would never happen between them …... that Ruth didn't want it to happen. The kiss ended so that they could each take a breath.

"I'm dropping hints, Harry," she said, her lips soft against his cheek, her warm breath fanning him, creating a surge deep in his groin. "It's time we moved on."

He quickly pulled his head back to look at her. She was so beautiful – her pupils dilated, her hair all over the place, her lips parted – that he could barely breath.

"What do you mean?"

"This," she said, as she pulled away from him slightly, and began unfastening his shirt buttons with a swiftness that told him she was as eager as he was.

But he still heard Jane's words in his head: _I suggest that you don't take your pants off too soon._ Clever Jane. She was right about that. He still had his pants on, but then he felt Ruth's fingers wrestling with the top button of his pants.

"Do you need some help with that?" he said, pulling away from her.

Ruth was too quick for him. By the time his hands reached the waistband of his trousers, she'd opened the button, and the zip, and her hand was warmly cupping him through his underwear.

"You're throbbing," she said, as she held him.

"Careful with that," he said quietly, hoping she wouldn't hold him like that for too long, but also hoping that she'd never take her hand away ….. _ever._

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that – with reverence and love. There had been women while Ruth had been in exile, but they had been quick shags, nothing more. There had been no love, no tenderness, just sex followed by release, and a promise to ring, a promise which was never honoured.

They continued fumbling with clothing. The sofa was quite comfortable as sofas go, but it was a confined space, and their elbows kept hitting pillows or the back of the sofa, or one another's flesh. When they were at last both naked, they simply sat there gazing at the other. Ruth was the first one to move, as she grazed her fingers across Harry's chest, and down his stomach to his erection. She then ran her fingers down the flesh of each thigh, and back again. Then she drew his face to hers, and she kissed him softly and slowly, seeking his tongue with her own.

He pushed her on to her back as they kissed, and with one hand parted her legs so that he could lie between them. This was it. He wanted to taste her breasts. He wanted to taste her all over, but especially _there_. More than any of that, he wanted to sink himself into her, to lose himself inside her body. How many times in the last four years had he thought about this moment?

He felt Ruth wriggle her bottom under him, and then sensed that she was simply making his job easier by positioning herself closer to him. Her heat was so close …... so close. He clenched his buttocks and pushed ever so slightly forward, while she lifted herself to meet him. Then he was inside her, where she was moist and hot and welcoming, and he felt tears filling his eyes, so he closed them, and began to move slowly …... deeper, and then back, and then …...

She helped him create a steady rhythm. He was grateful for that, because he was barely coping. Here he was, making love to the woman with whom he'd been led to believe he'd never ever make love, and it was wonderful, magnificent, life-changing …... and he had to shut down his mind, otherwise he was sure he'd cry or vomit …... maybe both.

He rested most of his weight on one elbow, while with his other hand he explored her breast, caressing the delicate skin with his fingertips, and grazing over the nipple with his thumb. He buried his face in her neck, and kissed her there, over and over, until he heard her laugh lightly. He became aware of her fingers on his back and shoulders, caressing him, touching him, softly, gently, and with love. Those same fingers moved down his sides to his buttocks, where she squeezed his flesh, pulling him into her deeper. He was operating on instinct, and his instinct led him to speeding up.

"Is this okay?" he managed to say, as he plunged into her deeper and faster.

Ruth's reply was to dig her fingernails into his buttocks as her body began clenching and pulsing around his flesh. _God, she was coming, and she was bloody magnificent!_ He kept pushing into her, deeper and faster. It was when he heard her saying, `let go, Harry,' next to his ear that he did as she suggested, and allowed his own climax to overwhelm him, as he thrust into her one last time, spilling himself inside her. He flopped down over her, but allowed his head and shoulders to rest beside her. They were still joined at the hip, but it wouldn't be long before his spent penis would slip out of her.

Once he was again able to think linearly, Harry took the blanket which lay over the back of the sofa, and covered them with it. He turned his body, so that they lay together, facing one another. He briefly kissed Ruth's lips, but she seemed to be asleep, so he nestled down beside her and closed his eyes. His body was exhausted, but he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this fulfilled.

* * *

A half hour later, Harry felt Ruth stir in his arms. He opened his eyes to see her looking at him, making no effort to hide the love. His instinct was to tell her he loved her, but despite what they had just done, he held back those words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't I tell you what?" he replied.

"That you were so good in bed."

Harry felt his face flush slightly with embarrassment. "We're not in bed," he corrected.

"Well, you could have told me that you're magnificent on the sofa."

"And you would have what – come home with me all those years ago?"

"I guess not."

Harry reached across to kiss her, and this time the kiss was still soft and warm, but their passion had been spent. Ruth slipped her arms around his neck, and he felt her fingers softly comb through his hair, now longer than usual. Just that small gesture, the brushing of her fingers through his hair made him feel cherished in a way he'd not felt in decades.

"I love you," he said, as he lifted his head from hers.

"That's not just the afterglow talking is it?" This time her eyes were serious.

"No, it's not, although the afterglow has made me braver than usual. I've loved you for years, Ruth."

"I know you have. I now know that you wouldn't have asked me to marry you had you not loved me like this. And I …. I love you too, Harry."

They kissed briefly, a kiss to acknowledge a shared truth.

"So that then begs the question …... why was it you said no to me, and why was it – only two nights ago – you said that, and I quote, `we couldn't be more together than we are now'?

"I said _that_?"

"Yes, Ruth, you did."

"Those words are quite cruel, given how we actually feel about one another."

"They were."

"And you were hurt …."

"If I'm being honest, Ruth, I was, and …... I had no idea what to say to get you to change your mind ... so I said nothing."

He waited for what seemed like a very long time while Ruth rolled on to her back, away from him, and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know how to say this without it sounding rather strange, but …..."

"Try me. I won't judge you."

"I thought – wrongly, as it turns out – that you just wanted me for companionship. It was clear you were lonely, and I thought you just wanted a woman in your life, and that the sex part was no longer important to you."

"Why did you think that …... especially when it's clear that the sex part, as you call it, is still very important to me?"

"Since I came back from Cyprus, you've not shown any interest in me …... as a woman …... so I just thought, why get married? We're very close at work, and isn't that what you want? Harry, I didn't want to live with you as a companion. Being that close to you would have driven me crazy."

This time it was Harry who took his time replying to her.

"It seems," he said at last, "that we've been at cross purposes."

"Harry, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I hadn't meant to hurt you. I was trying to protect myself, because of how I feel about you."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight I thought I'd try seducing you, to see if there was still a spark there."

Seeing the smile on Harry's face as he stared at her, Ruth turned to him, and said, "What?"

"I brought you back here – to my place – thinking I just might manage to seduce you."

They laughed a little, and hugged, before Harry pulled out of her arms.

"It's late. Time for a quick shower and bed." Suddenly his face was serious, and he was no longer as confident as he'd been only a moment earlier. "You will stay the night, won't you, Ruth?"

Her answer was her arms around his neck, and her mouth on his.

"What about Beth?"

"Beth? She doesn't yet know my habits. For all she knows, I stay out every night."

* * *

After they stood together under the shower, chiefly to wash away the sweat and the remnants of their loving, they curled up together under the duvet on Harry's bed. Ruth had grabbed a fresh shirt of Harry's from his wardrobe, and she wore it to bed, while Harry took a fresh pair of trunks from a drawer, and that was all he wore to bed.

They lay close together, their legs entwined, and their hands touching the other – his hand on her waist, and her palm against his chest. They kissed a few times, their lips soft, their voices lazy with sleep.

"This is nice," she said, her mouth still close to his.

"Should have done this years ago," he said, and then they relaxed as sleep overtook them.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank you to all readers and thanks especially for the reviews. Thanks also to those who patiently supported me through my recent HDD crisis. You know who you are.**_

* * *

The working week began with a hostage situation in the corridor of one of the city's largest hospitals, involving two hospital pharmacists and five members of a group calling themselves Cnidus, after the first known Greek medical school. Ruth had had her work cut out for her in trying to unravel the chain of command in the group – many of whom had worked in hospitals all around the world - and the deeper she searched, the more connections she unravelled. She had not been alone with Harry since he'd driven her home on Sunday afternoon, and so by Thursday, when things began to again relax on the Grid, they were in need of some time alone together.

It was a little before 7 pm when Ruth lifted her head from her monitor to see Harry watching her from his desk in his office. She smiled at him, and with a flick of his head, he indicated that she should join him. By the time she reached the door, and opened it without knocking, he'd closed the blinds.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, indicating the closed blinds.

"I think we need just a few minutes to ourselves ….. wouldn't you agree?"

Ruth slid the door closed, and walked up to Harry, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead. Tentatively, she reached out her hand to grasp his, and he turned his hand to link his fingers with hers. They smiled into the eyes of the other, not sure where to take the moment. They had not yet discussed how they would behave together at work, but it had been understood that while on the Grid, it would be business as usual. They had not bargained on moments such as this, late in the day, alone in Harry's office, the blinds closed, with no-one to serve as a witness to their actions. Would it be alright if they stole a quick kiss? No-one was watching. For just these few moments, they had privacy.

Harry moved first, and for that Ruth was grateful. Looking into his eyes had become almost painful, as if she'd been staring too long at the sun. He leaned his head towards her, his eyes on her mouth, and so Ruth stepped closer, slipping her hands under his jacket, wrapping her arms around him, allowing him to pull her close. When she again looked up into his eyes, he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was long and passionate, and by the time they came up for air, the memory of Saturday night (and again Sunday morning) resonated through their bodies. Ruth could detect the signs of arousal in her own body, as well as Harry's growing hardness against her stomach.

"You feel so good," she said, reaching up to kiss him again.

"Come home with me tonight."

Ruth nodded, and was about to kiss Harry again, when the door to his office suddenly slid back, and Tariq began speaking, his eyes on a printout in his hand.

"Harry, I found out how they were rerouting their phone calls and messages. It was -"

"Tariq …... can it wait?"

Harry and Ruth quickly sprang apart, although Ruth left one of her hands resting on his bum, but out of Tariq's view.

Tariq seemed to then notice Ruth's presence in the room, and he looked at her, and was about to speak to her, when Ruth interrupted. "Tariq," she said calmly, "I think we need to talk."

With only a quick glance at Harry, Ruth broke contact with him, and led a bewildered Tariq back across the Grid to his desk. Neither spoke, and neither looked back at Harry. Watching them leave his office, Harry was reminded of the time soon after Ruth had returned from Cyprus, when it was Tariq who had interrupted he and Ruth when they'd been about to go for a drink together. _There's something quite screwed up with the lad's timing chip,_ Harry thought. _Perhaps he needs sending back to the factory for recalibrating._

When she reached Tariq's desk, Ruth indicted he should sit, while she drew up a chair for herself from the empty desk beside his.

"Tariq," she began.

"I should have knocked, right? Because you and Harry were snogging."

"Well, not just because of what Harry and I may or may not have been doing."

"Harry will only ever be snogging you, Ruth – not anyone else, so that's okay then. I don't have to feel embarrassed. Now ... were he snogging someone other than you, I'd feel obliged to tell you, and_ that_ could be -"

"The point is, Tariq, you should always knock on Harry's office door before entering his office. It's part of office etiquette."

"You don't."

"I …... er … don't because -"

"Because Harry always wants to see you, on account of you being his girlfriend. I know all about it."

"You do?"

"Everyone does. But we all think it's a good thing that Harry has a girlfriend, because it makes him happier, and so he's easier to work with."

Rather than panic about this news, Ruth decided to milk it.

"Tariq …... for how long have I been Harry's girlfriend?"

"Oh, years. I was told you'd been his girlfriend even before you had to leave the country."

"That long?"

"Do you mean you haven't been his girlfriend for that long?"

"Maybe not that long, Tariq, but I've been his girlfriend for quite a while." As she saw it, this information was not entirely false, and it helped to normalise their snogging in Harry's office.

"So in future, if the blinds are closed -"

"You should knock, or better still, wait until the blinds are open... mainly because sometimes Harry has a stress headache, and sometimes he has to sleep in his office."

"You know the best thing for a stress headache, don't you? It's -"

"That's all for now, Tariq. I'll hear about your information about the calls the members of Cnidus rerouted tomorrow. Harry and I have to leave now. He needs to catch up on sleep."

Ruth stood, and put a hand on Tariq's shoulder. His frown of confusion brought his eyebrows closer together, and it was then, in the half-light of the Grid in the evening, that Ruth noticed what a good-looking lad Tariq was. She, on the other hand, preferred men who were more on the mature side.

"Everything okay?" Harry asked, as she re-entered his office, and again slid the door closed behind her.

"Everyone thinks I've been your girlfriend for years."

Harry grinned widely, and again put his hands around her waist, and drew her closer. "In my mind you have been." He reached down and kissed her quickly before he drew away from her. "At this rate, we'll never get home, and I'd like to talk to you tonight, as well as …..."

"As well as?"

"You know what I mean."

She did.

* * *

They'd just stepped through the front door when Harry suggested they shower together, to wash the grime of the Grid from their bodies. Ruth happened to be able to read the look on Harry's face as he suggested it, the look which clearly said: _I want you._

And he did want her ….. badly.

They'd barely stepped under the shower stream, when Harry knelt in front of her, and brought her to climax with his mouth, his tongue, and his fingers. She'd had to take her hands from the back of Harry's head, as she stepped back against the tiles, her hands and her back against the wall while she came down. Some minutes later, she noticed Harry standing under the water watching her, his partial erection noticeable without clothes to hide it. He was a very well built man – wide and powerful shoulders, strong arms and thighs, and a thick chest. She was relieved they had taken the steps they had on the weekend. She had found it exhausting to be always having to maintain emotional distance from him, keeping her feelings from him, putting up walls, keeping a straight face, breaking eye contact. She much preferred _this_ …... their openness with one another, the tenderness, the love, and of course, the sex.

He'd noticed her watching him, her eyes glancing over all of him, appreciating what she saw. He knew he was far from perfect. He knew he was showing signs of aging, and that he was carrying a little too much weight, but he was also determined to be as agile and as able as he could be, to be there for her, and to protect her. She'd given them a chance, and he was determined to make the most of it …... to not mess it up before they'd even begun.

He stepped over to her and slid his arms around her. He would have been happy to simply hold her, but on this night he wanted more, and she knew it. She could see clearly that he needed more. He leaned down and began kissing her slowly and gently. They made love standing up against the tiled wall, his hands supporting her buttocks while she wrapped her legs around him. His back strained and his knees were under immense pressure, but he could feel neither, so totally was he immersed in loving her, and in that loving space, there was no pain, no hurting, no limitation.

Afterwards, after he'd turned off the shower, and they'd dried one another with thick towels, they crawled into Harry's bed – both naked – and slept until their hunger for food again woke them.

* * *

"Would you stay the night with me?" he asked over dinner.

Ruth smiled across the table at him.

"What? What is it?" he asked, still afraid she may turn him down, or laugh at him, or even scoff at his suggestion.

"In the rather large bag I've been carrying to work this week, I have a change of clothes …... for when you ask me that very question."

There was a modesty about Ruth's answer which Harry loved about her. She was essentially saying that she'd been prepared all week for when they could again be together in his house, to share a meal, to make love, to spend the night together, to be a couple. She hadn't advertised the fact; she'd acted low key, and with poise and grace. He admired that. She was nothing like the brazen and confident women he'd once lusted after ... women like Juliet Shaw, and, of course, Jane. Ruth was shy and unsure – of herself, mainly – and he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. If that involved marriage then that would be wonderful, and if not, then he would happily live with that.

"You'll stay?" he repeated.

"I'd love to, Harry."

"Good. That's good. I've been thinking …... when I wasn't thinking about Cnidus, I've been thinking about us, about you. I was wondering how you'd feel about keeping some of your things here ... at my place …... for nights like this. Fidget could come back here to live, too. Scarlet could do with the company."

Ruth smiled, mainly at his hesitation. For someone usually so confident, Harry was anything but confident about her, about them. It was small wonder that they'd taken all these years to reach this place together. He was unsure, she was unsure, and neither acted on their feelings for fear of being rejected, and humiliated. Openness was refreshing, liberating. Ruth gave a small laugh.

"I've been thinking the same thing. Beth and I are hardly compatible as flatmates. I like her, and she's a lot of fun, but while I'm merely untidy, she's chaotic, and she keeps strange hours …... and I'm sure Fidget would love to come back here. I think Beth freaks him out."

"Did Beth wonder where you were on Saturday night?"

"No. I don't think she noticed I wasn't there."

"So …... if you spend two or three – or more – nights a week here with me, then she won't be unduly put out." He wanted her in his house every night, but to achieve that would take time, and he was a patient man.

"No... she won't. I'm happy to spend more time here, Harry …... with you."

They watched one another as they finished dinner, and sipped their wine. They had grown closer during the past few days, and there was much they had to look forward to. Neither knew where this new relationship would lead, but they each had their dreams. Talking about their shared dreams would have to wait for another time.

Suddenly, Harry remembered that Jane had asked him to let her know how things went with Ruth. He felt he owed her an update, but that could wait until he got to work tomorrow, and perhaps he'd send her a text message, rather than calling her directly. He hadn't known how wise Jane could be. He'd only ever seen the bitter and angry side of her, just as she'd only ever seen the callous and selfish side of him. Most of all, he needed to thank her for the advice about keeping his pants on until Ruth took them off. Who knew that this would be the best advice of all?

_Fin_


End file.
